


Breathe

by orphan_account



Series: Grey Days [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 07:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16719408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Everything, for once, was calm.“Mmgfh,” Akira groaned against her chest.Almost everything.





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> At first this was going to be the very end of the last chapter of Echoes, but I think it's turned out better like this, spun out into its own longer thing.
> 
> There's still a bit more I'd like to write for this AU focusing on the rest of the thieves, but who knows! I'd be happy enough to leave things here.

Something in the air had changed.

The snow falling just outside was the same as ever. So was the muted hum of the heater. Even the feeling of Akira’s breath ghosting across her skin was the same, no matter how much she might have missed that particular sensation. But there was _something_. Like the entire world had taken on the clarity of a dream; of something strange and yet familiar. A familiar routine with a strange, and new, and wonderful calmness. More than they had ever managed to steal for themselves in the past. More than she ever hoped to see. It felt easier to breathe. Easier to let the waves of relaxation wash over her like a steady pulse and allow the moment to simply be enjoyed for what it was.

There was no more planning to be done. No more fights to be had. Not even any worrying over whether they would live to see the next morning. There was nothing left but the rise and fall of Akira’s chest on top of her and the knowledge that they were finally, _finally_ free.

Everything, for once, was calm.

“ _Mmgfh,_ ” Akira groaned against her chest.

 _Almost_ everything.

Makoto giggled softly into the quiet. She tangled her fingers deeper into Akira’s hair, let her nails continue that dull scrape back and forth along his scalp until his entire body fell slack under her touch. It was just enough to keep the smile on her face, the way he reacted so easily. Still. Even after so much time apart. “Me too, Aki. Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm.” Another round of hot, ticklish breaths skimming along her skin, and soft, ticklish curls rubbing against her neck served as his response. Just barely enough to form together into a nod. More than enough to guarantee that Makoto’s next bout of laughter was just a bit louder than ‘soft’.

When she had settled, and when she was positive Akira had finally been lulled back to sleep, she buried her nose in those dark curls. She let her hands come to rest just above his ears, and she breathed deep.

One year later and the smell of coffee, same as ever, clung to him like it was never going to leave. Like it was embedded into his very being and simply an undeniable fact of his existence. If the thought made her smile, at least Akira wasn’t conscious enough to tease over that little detail.

So she let her eyes fall closed and she let Akira’s presence surround her even more. Until she was somewhere just past the scent of fresh roasted coffee and met with so many reminders of the new distance between them. Fire, and woods, and fresh air, and… and despite everything else, him. Still him. Always him. That familiar, soothing something that Makoto had only ever managed to describe as _Akira._ The mix of new and old reminded her of their first days together. Back when everything seemed so much simpler. Back when she was just a student, and he was just a mystery, and time still marched on untouched by the hands of beings more powerful than they would ever understand.

Maybe someday soon she might finally discover a name for that something. A name to truly describe the calm that flowed off of Akira in waves. One last impossible task to occupy the time they’d been given.

One last impossible task that was distinctly safer than their last.

Later, once the sky seemed almost barely lighter and the idea of sleep felt even further out of Makoto’s reach, her hands slipped free from Akira’s hair and drifted lower. They traced slow and steady over the roughened skin of each and every scar that covered his shoulders and his back. Down into the few smooth, unmarred sections that remained. Each of those injuries, and every inch of untouched skin stood as firm reminders that they were still alive.

“Mmmakooo,” Came a sleepy, scratchy moan that rumbled out through Akira’s lungs and into her own. His arms rose to hold her gently at the wrists. She could feel the beginnings of a smile where his face was buried just under the dip of her collarbones. Just big enough to infect the air around him like the world’s most pleasant virus – like every new instance of his joy – and spread that same feeling all the way to her.

Only after Makoto settled her hands back into Akira’s hair did he make an effort to speak.

“…Should sleep,” Akira grumbled, gently angling his head for better access to the slope of her throat. His every word sent white hot vibrations between them. His kiss filled the air with sparks of something more. “’m here. We’re here.”

Makoto scratched at the spot behind Akira’s ears as a tease, until the point he was trying to make – a point that she understood perfectly well – was melting into her hands with the rest of him. “I know. I’m only relaxing, it’s okay.”

“Mmnot what I said. _Sleep_.” He half-groaned and half-laughed, already back to reaching ineffectually for her wrists as if it lent even the tiniest bit of gravity to his words.

And that might’ve been enough for her, if the Metaverse still existed. She would have shoved her thoughts into a neat little box at the back of her mind, and taken the rest of the night as one more stolen attempt at normalcy. But it was gone. They were finally over the finish line. Those years of pain were finally over, and they could _finally_ live their lives. They were alive. They had time.

Time to think, to relax, and to talk.

“In a bit, sleepy. But… Aki, can – can we talk about what happened? At the end?” It was safe to ask, now. Makoto knew, but worry still churned in her gut at having to find the words. What if Akira didn’t agree? Everything in their night happened out of order, and she was the one who made sure of it the moment she led Akira upstairs. What if he took that as a sign that she wanted to sweep it all under the floorboards and pretend it was okay? “This shouldn’t be how tonight goes, this is how we always avoid things.”

For a moment, Makoto couldn’t help the swell of pride she felt over finally managing to ask the question on her mind for over a year. But only for a moment. Because Akira had grown stiff against her. Whether in frustration, or a shared sense of worry, or something else entirely wasn’t clear. But when he shifted, when he turned to meet her eyes, she saw that his were as silver and still and understanding as in any of their most tranquil moments. Like the clouds in the sky, calm and steady and safe. All of her worries vanished into nothing.

Akira turned away without answering then, and he tucked himself back against the dip of her shoulder. Makoto knew he was thinking; knew he was somewhere far, far outside his body, remembering things he hoped never to remember.

Makoto knew, because it’s who Akira was. He might have been given a gift; an amazing gift that allowed him to accomplish incredible things; but it only ever felt like poison to him. He only ever viewed that gift as something that might turn suddenly caustic and kill him from within the moment he stopped moving forward. The instant he stopped explaining his way around it. It didn’t matter to his mind how much love and affection surrounded him. No one was allowed to carry that burden for his sake, because if it really, truly turned out to be a danger, he would rather be the only one destroyed in its wake.

Makoto knew, because more than anything else she knew that there were things – horrible things – in the worlds they escaped, only ever glimpsed through his eyes. If he didn’t want her to know, she would never push. There were some things about the journey at their backs that Akira deserved to keep to himself. No matter how badly she wanted to know, and no matter how badly she wanted to ease the weight of that burden.

She would never ask about them unless he was willing to speak.

But her question, the one she _did_ ask – about their past and their relationship – wasn’t one of them. If she never truly understood the impact his first hours in the Metaverse, or his time with those beings in the Velvet Room, or his family life, or any of it, any of it at all, had on his decisions, that was okay. But _they_ needed fixing. Especially now, when they were drifting aimlessly forward in the current of those choices with only a few strands of connection still holding them together.

“…Waiting was,” Makoto continued, hoping to pull him away from his thoughts. “It was… difficult. I was worried you might not ever come back.”

His lips brushed against her neck. Not quite a kiss, but close enough. An acknowledgment that he was listening.

And where he held them against her, she felt a kind of creeping at the corners of his lips. Something that almost formed a thin, weary smile.

“I was worried you might not think I’m worth waiting for.”

His voice was so despondent, so anxious and devoted that Makoto felt momentarily breathless.

An intense, fiery gold lined Akira’s irises when he finally pulled away. One Makoto missed more than words could ever say. He was smiling that smile he seemed to keep hidden away entirely for her. The smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and his cheeks bunch up in the purest form of happiness that he ever wore. The sort of happiness that went straight for Makoto’s heart and plucked at the edges like stealing it would be the easiest thing in the world. She felt lost in the sight. Because there he was, grateful, and ready, and every sparkle in those eyes acting as a wordless _thank you_ for having the courage to ask. “Thank you. For waiting for me.”

“…I missed those eyes…” She felt herself whispering.

She felt herself urging him closer before she realized she had moved at all.

“Just the eyes, hm?” Akira followed. He let out a smug little chuckle when she rolled hers, because one little joke was all it took to shatter the mood and replace it with something much warmer. And Akira followed Makoto into that something like it was the easiest decision in the world. He followed until Makoto held his face just above her own. Until she cupped his face between her hands, so close and so low that their noses were brushing together and their breath mixed together in the space between them. Until she could feel that smug lopsided grin barely out of reach of her own, so close that all she needed to do was angle her head just right –

“Anyway, this, uh… doesn’t have to be. Anymore.” He kissed her then, soft and unsure and his every move practically begging for permission. To continue. To rely on her. Maybe a little of both. She let her sudden loss of breath serve as her answer. “How we ignore things, I mean. Ever again.”

 _Yeah,_ she mouthed, _we have time._ Because he was leaning his entire body closer, and she knew that clever tongue of his was about to make an appearance, and they didn’t need to talk _right_ then. They could go back to the other kind of catching up.

“We do.” He whispered.

Makoto felt two fingers angle her chin just barely higher, and her lips parted because _there_ was that tongue brushing against her lower lip. And _there_ was the full weight of his body coming to rest on top of her, and somehow, somehow… it felt okay to forget about everything else, knowing that they really, truly, _did_ have time.

It wasn’t until later, after Akira pulled away for air and settled back into her shoulder with one final peck, that he answered the question she’d nearly forgotten she asked. He didn’t move from that place, and the act felt like a small attempt at returning Makoto’s position of authority in their conversation. An apology. An admission of sorts that they did, really, need to talk, and that he felt guilty for stalling her.

“I’m sorry for everything,” He said. His fingers were running slowly up and down the pathways of scars that lined her belly. “I know I said it hasn’t been a good year, but that’s no excuse. You deserved better.”

“I did. I do. Tell me about it. Talk to me, Aki.”

The exhale that accompanied his smile flooded over the dip of her clavicle.

The long silence that followed seemed to drench it in fire.

“My parents are, uh,” Akira seemed unsure how to continue other than to bury his face against that very same spot on her neck. “It’s a good thing Morgana decided to visit when he did. Probably wouldn’t… be, here, if I was left alone for a whole year. I picked up a lot of new cuts and bruises. You don’t exactly need to get creative, out in the country, when you’re looking for ways to hurt yourself.”

Makoto, who had let her hands be drawn back to Akira’s hair as if by some invisible force, let one slip away and settle between his shoulder blades. Her nails began scratching idly at the length of his spine.

Tension evaporated from Akira’s body in that very same instant. “Don’t, uh, don’t tell him that. He’s still just a kid. He thinks I’m better, but… he worries. I know he does. There were a few times when even having him there wasn’t enough to stop me from sneaking out and… it’s hard. Trying to go back to a normal life after everything I’ve done. Everyone that died, that’s on _my_ hands. It doesn’t matter how much work you guys put in to make sure no one else sees it that way, I’ll always have to carry that.” Something of a bitter laugh broke off anything else he might have said. “Anyway, he’s, he deserves to think that. That it’s over. He’s earned it, after everything he’s gone through.”

Whatever urge Makoto felt to ask about his classmates, his former friends, anyone else he knew in that place, was completely gone. In fact, she didn’t have anything to say at all. She only held him closer, and tighter, and buried her nose in his hair. Let it skim back and forth until Akira was slowing back down with a shaky sigh. She thought about how none of it was even all that surprising. She should have known better. Should have realized that relying on him to be their fearless leader over and over and over would have resulted in that year eventually; in Akira being left nothing more than a worn-out husk, too scared to ask whether he was even _allowed_ to ask for help, in the thick of all that time and distance apart.

Of course he’d view himself in that way, like he was as good as a murderer. There was never any time to worry about consequences until it was too late. And now, here he was, older, maybe a little wiser, maybe a little more cunning, and with nothing to show for it but the scars and the memories he carried.

“Doing good so far?” He asked, wearing the faint beginnings of a smile on his lips.

He must have taken her being lost in thought as something worse.

How like him, to worry even while he was pouring his heart out for her.

How embarrassing to be caught.

“I, yes,” Makoto finally managed to whisper. “I… I love you. So much.”

Another smile.

Another kiss.

“I know. I love you too. Everything I’m dealing with right now isn’t magically going to disappear now that I’m back, but, I’m better when I’m with you. You’re good for me. All of you… I’m sorry for not realizing that goes both ways, Mako.”

“No, don’t – don’t apologize for that. Please.”

Knowing how much worse things were for him, watching him admit – or come as close to admitting as he could – exactly how bad things were, before turning around and _apologizing_ was too much. She couldn’t let him. Not for that. Not ever for that.

“ _Please._ ” She tried again.

And Akira nodded.

In the silence that followed, the sun rose even further, painting the sky a light enough shade that traces were even beginning to spill in through the window. Makoto had nothing else to ask, and Akira seemed content enough to continue lying there, legs tangled with hers and his fingers still dancing across her skin. Sleep, though, was something he took issue with. Every so often, a groan or a sigh or a grumble would muffle itself into Makoto’s side as he struggled himself back awake, faint little noises that brought faint little smiles to Makoto with every new occurrence.

When those noises stepped themselves up to become yawns, Makoto’s smile grew with them, and she let her fingers still against his back. “It’s okay, Aki. Sleep.”

“Nono, ‘s fine,” He mumbled back, nearly cut off entirely by a yawn so strong that his entire body curled into itself, trembling faintly with the effort. “Tell – tell me about you now. School ‘n everything.”

“Are you sure? It’s really okay if you want to sleep. Promise.”

“I _want_ to. Told you already, you’re good for me. I missed hearing your voice.” A kiss followed that comment, slow and open-mouthed and tender against her throat, and Makoto knew it was his way of apologizing after she’d already told him it wasn’t necessary.

She tapped her cheek against his head. “ _Fine_. You win.”

He chuckled, quiet and sleepy and slow.

She told him everything. About her first year at the university of her dreams, about all of her new classes, and her new friends – friends which, she was quick to point out, she never would have made if it wasn’t for Akira’s influence in her life – and how every single second made her feel even more confident in her future. Akira smiled, soft and faint against her throat, through her entire story. He chimed in every now and then to let her know he was still listening. He’d ask about specific friends, or about her favorite subjects, or teachers, but eventually his breathing slowed enough that sleep was finally able to claim its victory over his body.

She never found time to mention that it all felt hollow with their family in pieces.

She thought he might’ve pieced it together anyway.

After that, Makoto didn’t speak again, but she did press a very hard kiss to the top of Akira’s head. She stayed awake for a little while longer, thinking about their future, about the attic, and about Akira. Most of all, though, she thought about how even after a year of living in that space, and sleeping in that bed, it never really felt like home until he was back and in her arms.

Wrapped up in his presence and the comfort of that knowledge, Makoto finally let Akira guide her to sleep.


End file.
